


Ghost in the Walls

by thelittlestpurplecat



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bucky's a ghost, M/M, One Shot, Plus Epilogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestpurplecat/pseuds/thelittlestpurplecat
Summary: At the time, buying his parents old home seemed like a romantic notion and Steve Rogers really was a romantic at heart and goddamn it if he was going to let being single get in the way of that. And as Steve moved in, and repainted all the walls and brought in fresh cut flowers to brighten the counters and tables he fell head over heels in love with the old place all over again. He loved it with his whole heart, which was why he was determined not to let the realization that it was haunted drive him away.Ghost AU wherein Steve finds himself not alone. And not giving a shit about his house being haunted leads to an unexpected love for the spirit that haunts it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm still remembering how to write again I hit a couple snags in my current works and pounded this out to relief the writer's block. Fun fact, Ghost in the Walls was inspired by a surprisingly cohesive dream. Enjoy!

At the time, buying his parents old home seemed like a romantic notion.

  
Not romantic in the sense that he had anyone to share it with, but romantic in the way a victorian novel was romantic. Romanic in the way dropping everything for a spontaneous trip was romantic. The kind of romantic that kindled a love of life, not particularly the love of a person. Steve Rogers was a romantic at heart and goddamn it if he was going to let being single get in the way of that. 

 

So he bought the home he’d grown up in. The home his parents had lived in until they passed. The home that had sat empty for over a decade now. And as Steve moved in, and repainted all the walls and brought in fresh cut flowers to brighten the counters and tables he fell head over heels in love with the old place all over again. He loved it with his whole heart, which was why he was determined not to let the realization that it was haunted drive him away.

 

\----

 

His paints and half finished work were all laid out on the table in a beautiful slated ray of warm, bright sun. His phone played soft music from the counter, and Steve pulled down a glass and a bottle of peach brandy. Settling himself in, glass in one hand, paintbrush in the other, Steve started work, humming quietly to the tune.

 

And then the electric hummed, the lights in his kitchen flickering and pulsing. It had scared him the first few time, but Steve only scowled in annoyance now, not even turning at the sound of fingernails scraping down the drywall on the insides of the walls. “That’s not as scary as you think!” He called, eyes on his painting. “You could be a fat mouse for all I know.”

 

The lights pulsed, something in the pitch and the hum sounding agitated and frustrated. On the counter behind him a stack of copy paper seemed to spontaneously explode papers flying everywhere. Steve glanced back with a little hum. “Yep, that’s really scary buddy.” He said, not sure it was wise to deadpan a spirit but it had been okay so far. Maybe it would get annoyed and leave. “You’re doing a good job, keep it up….” He took a sip of his brandy.

 

And for a short while the anomalies stopped. 

 

Steve put the restless spirit out of him mind, finishing his short glass of brandy, feeling the pleasant warmth in the pit of his stomach as he picked up the bottle with his slim, artistic fingers to pour himself another- 

 

And the bottle  _ exploded _ .

 

Steve gave a sharp gasp, one arm flashing up the shield his face, the hand that had been holding the bottle frozen open in shock. Glass rained down all over the table and floor, brandy soaking his painting, the colors running. They dribbled off the ends of the canvas onto the table, and Steve- heart in his throat- lowered the protective arm. His eyes flickered around, landing on his own hand. And a soft gasp slipped his lips as he watched the blood well up, filling his palm. The gasp turned to a choke of pain and he hastily grabbed a dishrag, pressing it to the sliced palm with a raw little whine, eyes welling up. “Ow- ah-  _ Ow!”  _ He looked around, teeth clenched.

 

“You  _ hurt  _ me.” His voice cracked- raw, and angry. Steve shook his head, the dishrag press to his palm as he stormed to the bathroom. “That’s  _ it-”  _ He snapped at the spirit, digging through his cabinet one handed until he found the gauze. “That’s  _ it,  _ you can fuck with my lights, and tear up my papers- I don’t give a shit, but you  _ hurt  _ me.” He pulled the rag away, hand held out accusingly. “And that means you’ve gotta go.” 

 

Steve wrapped his hand, turning to storm into his bedroom, hearing a ragged scratching following him inside the walls. “No, no- fuck off.” He snapped, throwing open the lid of his computer, typing with one hand. “You’re gone. You understand me? You’re fucking  _ gone _ and I’ll do every DIY spirit banishing I can find until you leave me the fuck alone.” The lights in his bedroom pulsed and keened, the scratching seeming to make laps around the walls as Steve shoved an area of his bedroom floor clear. Looking around he seized a roll of scotch tape, laying out a pentagram on the carpet, muttering angrily to himself as his lamp crashed to the floor.  

 

“Water, fire, earth, air, huh? Uh…” Steve looked around before grabbing a candle off his dresser, placing it on one point of the pentagram and a glass of water on the adjacent point. “Air...air…” He murmured to himself, frowning until an idea occurred to him, and he pulled a feather from the pillow on his bed, laying it in it’s place. Posters peeled off of Steve’s walls, shredding on their way down, the frantic scrambling pursuing him as he stalked outside, ripping out a handful of dirt and grass from his lawn. And as he came back into his room, throwing the dirt onto the ground and dropping himself down on the fifth pentagram point, Steve was sure of one thing. If the ritual itself didn’t work he was certain he’s anger alone would be enough to send this damn thing running.    
  
Because this was  _ his  _ home. He’d grown up here, and it was the last thing he had of his family. He wasn’t going to be chased out by a violent spirit. He’d have to send it packing weather he knew what he was doing or not.

 

Steve pulled his computer closer so that he could read the chant struggling the light the candle with one painfully throbbing hand. He finally got the wick to light, the bulbs in the overhead lamp bursting. Deep gouges started to appear in the paint on his walls, the scratching so loud Steve almost couldn’t hear himself shouting the incantation. “If spirits threaten me in this place, fight water by water and fire by fire. Banish their souls into nothingness and remove their powers until the last trace-” 

 

The floorboards under Steve’s carpet cracked and flexed, Steve’s pulse racing. “Let these evil beings flee- through time and space, so mote it-” Before the last word could escape his lips a shudder seemed to take the whole room, the candle falling over, smothered in its own wax and Steve suddenly felt like any protection he’d had was snuffed out with it. The hairs raised on the back of his neck, the room shaking before all the kinetic energy sucked to one spot on the far side of the room. The air seemed to pull from Steve’s lungs and he found himself dragged towards the spot, the shreds of paper and glass all around his room skittering across the floor to be caught up in the ball of energy. It pulsed the writhed and, with a noise like a tortured animal’s scream, burst outward.

 

And suddenly, Steve’s lungs caught, the entire room growing still. It was  _ right  _ there. The spirit that until now had been invisible now stood in front of him, not in the flesh- he wasn’t flesh- but he was there all the same. And he was nothing like what Steve had imagined. 

He was  _ beautiful.  _

 

The spirit was a man- or looked like one, only five or six years older than Steve. Though he was translucent and immaterial, Steve could see he had thick, dark brown hair, and a tight, muscular frame. His clothing looked only a few years out of date. And as Steve stared in shock and alarm, he suddenly realized the spirits expression mirrored his own….he looked tense and scared, his steel blue eyes wide with fear. 

 

Steve blinked his lips parting and the spirit tensed. 

 

_ “Don’t-”  _ It was a ragged plea, and Steve stopped short, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched in awe as the spirit shifted, looking like he was trying to find words he’d forgotten how to use. “Don’t….finish the banishment….please…..I don’t wanna die again….”

 

His breath caught, Steve captivated by what he was seeing in front of him, realizing he must be one of only a very few who’d ever experienced something like this...and then his expression tightened, suspicion washing over his features. “You hurt me.” He accused tightly. “I was fine living here with you, but you hurt me, and I can’t just take that.” 

 

“I’m sorry-” The spirit sounded urgent, and then he pulled back, his form flickering a little as he lowered his eyes. “I didn’t mean to-... _ please _ don’t banish me-” 

 

Steve let out a slow breath, the severity of his expression easing. “...who are you?...what are you doing here?” He asked quietly, not sure how long the spirit would be tangible. 

 

He looked up at him cautiously. “I’m Bucky…” He responded, his voice quiet as the tension in his incorporeal body seemed to slowly ease. “I...had unfinished business…”

 

“I wondered.” Steve murmured, shifting uncertainly. He’d always heard that’s what kept spirits tied to the earth. “But...I guess my question is why here?” He asked, backing up a little bit and brushing a few shards of glass off his bed so he could sit down. The spirit- Bucky- cautiously moved back into conversational distance, hovering a few feet away from Steve’s bed. 

 

“This was where my business was.” He murmured, and watched as Steve let out a frown. Bucky looked uncomfortable, his eyes shifting away. “Your uhm….your dad….he killed me.” He said quietly, unable to make himself look at Steve- to see the stunned horror that seized his expression. He pressed on, half afraid Steve would get angry and finish the banishing. “The drunk driving accident he died from-  _ he  _ was the driver. He hit me- I died. But he didn’t. Not right away.” Bucky’s voice was tight and anxious, his hand rubbing feverishly over his chest like he could still feel the car hitting him. “If he’d have died when I did my soul woulda gone on, but he didn’t….he died a few days later, and...I never got to confront him about what he did to me.” Finally, Bucky worked up the nerve to look at Steve, whose expression was a mask of horror. He wet his lips, shifting. “So...I’m stuck here...I can’t-...finish what I was supposed to finish, so I’m stuck here, but...it was just a couple years ago….I’m not ready to die again...so please don’t banish me…”

 

Steve let out a shaky breath, his eyes lowering as he tried to absorb what he’d just heard. He knew what had happened. That a man had been killed...that his father had been drunk. But he’d been a teenager. People had kept him away from the details. And now here- ten years later, the very person his father had killed in his room, begged not to be killed again. Steve looked up slowly. “God- no, No- I’m not gonna banish you.” He shook his head quickly, forgetting about the throbbing in his lacerated palm. This was bigger than that. “Bucky….I’m so sorry-” He whispered haltingly. How do you express something like that fully enough? When Bucky was dead and trapped because his father had been drunk and selfish. 

 

Bucky shifted. “It wasn’t you.” He murmured. 

 

“But I know how my dad was.” He protested. “I know he was drunk all the time, I know...I know he wasn’t a good person, and you shouldn’t have to suffer like this because of that...but I can’t help you either….I can’t give you the closure you need.” He frowned. “I can’t let your move on to where you’re supposed to be….”

 

Bucky shifted, and then cautiously moved, his translucent form moving over to the bed beside Steve. “I know.” He said quietly. “But that’s not your job.” He looked over cautiously, still a little timid, but coming into himself a little more. In life, Bucky had been charming and confident, but the years alone had changed him. It wasn’t easy to just be who you were when you were alive. Not when you were dead…He eased closer to Steve. “It was your father’s job, and he was gone before he could do right by me, so I’m here for good...but if you want,” He shifted. “...if I can hold this form we could keep each other company…I swear I wouldn’t hurt you again...or make a mess, or fuck up your lights…” Bucky swallowed, Steve eyes meeting his. “Please let me stay?....”

 

Slowly, Steve nodded and then with more certainty. “Of course you can stay….after what my dad did to you, it’s the least I can offer...and I can get rid of the alcohol in the house too...I...I take it that’s something you’re not a fan off.”

 

Bucky’s mouth tugged. “I heard you talking to yourself about going grocery shopping later….” He admitted. “I didn’t want you to drive…I didn’t mean to hurt you when I broke the bottle though….”

 

Steve’s mouth tugged, and now that he was right in front of him- now that he knew who shared his home- knew his history and motives, the gesture was kind of sweet. “I won’t, I promise.” Steve said earnestly, and- uncertain of what to expect, he reached out to touch Bucky’s arm. 

 

The spirit drew in a soft surprised breath, but to both of their shock, Steve’s hand didn’t pass through. It wasn’t the same as touching a person. It wasn’t solid, but his hand met resistance, and Steve’s stared in amazement as his fingers trailed down to Bucky’s wrist. Bucky let out a starved little moan. “God you can  _ touch  _ me-” He breathed, eyes falling close. “Oh jesus- you can  _ touch me-”  _

 

Steve looked up at him as surprised as Bucky. “Its that okay?” he asked, Bucky's form leaving his hand tingling like it had fallen asleep; strange, but not unpleasant and Bucky nodded raggedly.

 

“Yes- Yes- god it's-” he swallowed back his babbling letting out a slow breath and opening his eyes, looking at Steve. “I didn't think I was ever gonna be able to be touched ever again….” he admitted softly. He hesitated, eyes flickering before his translucent hand reached up to cautiously touch Steve's slim chest. 

 

That same tingle spread through him, Steve shivering at the unfamiliar sensation. “Wow…” he breathed, Bucky’s hand tugging back. 

 

“Sorry- is that?-”

 

“No, It’s fine.” Steve hurried out, his hand pressing more fully to the resistance it met against Bucky’s wrist, and he watched the slow smile on Bucky’s face grow. This wasn’t at all the direction he’d thought today would take. He’d thought he’d paint and get groceries, not attempt a banishing only to find himself roommates with the spirit of a man he father had killed...a spirit who was deprived to companionship and touch- who wasn’t malicious, but bored, lonely, trapped, and had limited control of his influence on the physical world. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but somehow it felt like this had been meant to be from the moment he’d moved back in. 

 

Bucky still looked a little dazed at the suddenly ability to touch as he ran his hand up Steve’s chest, and Steve was surprised to find he didn’t mind. Even considering they’d just met it still felt comfortable, and right, if only for the fact that Bucky was clearly touch starved. He rested his other hand on Bucky’s opposite arm, watching the spirit’s reaction as his lips parted with stunned relief. “So...I was planning on going out earlier, but uh-” He gave a breathless huff. “I don’t think that’s happening anymore….I know you probably don’t eat, but maybe we can just order a pizza in? I’ll still need dinner, but...we can talk. Y‘know... get to know each other.” He offered quietly, bucky’s fingers still brushing over his chest.

 

Bucky nodded, his fingers tracing over Steve’s chest, still drinking in the sensation of being more than a mind trapped in the walls going howling mad. “Yeah- yeah. Please.” He said his tone earnest, his eyes drifting from Steve’s chest, to his delicate neck, to the sharp, gorgeous cut of his jaw and up to his face. And who would have thought Bucky could feel like his heart was beating again. “Can I just-” He faltered, feeling nervous, and uncertain, and a little selfish. But after all these years, he had to ask. “Can I just hold your hand? I hope that’s not weird, I just- it’s been so long and it feels so good to touch again, I-”

 

Steve’s pulse fluttered, and he cut off Bucky’s string of nervous babbling by taking Bucky’s hand in his. He caught the hitch of Bucky’s breath, the widening of his eyes, and Steve felt a timid smile touch his lips. “Yeah.” He said warmly. “Not weird at all.”

 

It  _ was _ weird. Steve had suddenly found himself living with a spirit- a warm, friendly, beautiful spirit that had just needed a voice. He found himself tossing out all his alcohol because when Bucky saw it lightbulbs would spontaneously burn out or burst, and he often ended up cleaning up paper explosions while Bucky apologized for the unexpected ways his emotions affect their environment. He found himself holding Bucky’s hand, and stroking his hair mere hours after they’d met. And it  _ was _ weird. 

 

But Steve had decided it was good too. Maybe his life had been meant to be weird all along. 


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this one! Don't forget to let me know what you think of the wrap-up! <3

Steve’s life was weird from that day on, and he had no idea how he’d survived it being so normal before. 

 

He’d gone from living by himself in his parents old home to rooming with the spirit of a man his father had murdered. And Bucky was a unique roommate. For one thing, his emotions had physical manifestations that he had very little control over. If he got upset or scared, furniture would tip over, curtains would spontaneously rip off of their rods, or lightbulbs would burst. When he was happy, Steve found the flower cuttings he brought in would thrive longer, even putting down water roots in the vase so he could replant them. Bucky’s good moods also lent itself to the air smelling fresher, bread seeming to never go stale, and fruit lingering at the perfect ripeness, and Steve enjoyed this more often than not as Bucky seemed happier by the day.

 

Every day, Steve saw more of the guarded timidness fall away, Bucky growing more confident, more humorous, and charming. For the first few days, he asked Steve multiple times a day if he was going to banish him. Now, Bucky joked about it. If a change of emotion sent Steve’s painting flying across the room, Bucky would sigh, murmuring dramatically about Steve probably wishing he’d banished him when he had the chance. And Steve would scoff, and give him a shove on his way to retrieve the painting while Bucky chased the contact. 

  
And that was the second thing. Bucky was an extremely tactile roommate. Every evening Steve would put something on the t.v. and Bucky’s slightly immaterial body would press tight to Steve’s until Steve’s entire body tingled from the contact. If he was honest, he’d learned to like it. 

 

And then the contact had started to change. It had shifted when Bucky started slipping into bed with him.  _ “I know this is weird, but I can hardly stand not feeling touch right now...just let me sleep here a couple of nights and then I’ll be out of your hair…”  _ So Bucky had started sleeping in Steve’s bed, and Steve would find himself playing with Bucky’s fingers as they lay there in the darkness, gradually moving closer. He remembered wondering what the hell he was doing when he shifted over onto his side, his forehead tingling as it met Bucky’s. He remembered realizing he didn’t care as their lips softly met in the darkness. 

 

And as the years past, friends would often ask Steve why he didn’t ever date anyone- why he never got married- and the truth was too strange to ever share. 

 

But it was their strange truth. 

 

Every day, Steve fell deeper in love with Bucky. With his smile, and his wit, and his charm. And every day Bucky felt alive all over again when he looked at Steve- when he realized again and again how much he loved his bravery, and his stubbornness, and his heart. And it was strange as the years past that Steve grew to the same age as Bucky..and it was stranger still when he got older and Bucky stayed the same...but it was still their truth. It was still the life they’d chosen, even if only one of them still had a life to live. 

 

But life doesn’t last forever. Not for anyone. And for some, life doesn’t last long at all.

 

When Steve was thirty-nine he got hit with a bad bought of pneumonia, and despite the assurances, Steve could feel it in his chest. With how weak his body had always been, even into adulthood, this was just the straw that broke the camel's back. And he wasn’t going to die in a hospital. He stayed only as long as he had to to appease the friends who came to visit him before insisting on going home to take care of himself. It was sad really...Steve knew his friend wanted him to make it, but he could feel the truth in his body. He was going to die...maybe soon and Steve had both hopes and fears for what that would mean.

 

\--------

 

“Steve-” 

 

Steve's mouth pulled into a smile as Bucky's translucent figure blurred through the air, almost slamming into him as Steve wrapped him in his arms. “I'm home-” he breathed. “I'm home-” it had killed Steve to leave like that- he knew how badly being alone affected Bucky, but he'd called his house, talking to him on the answering machine so he could hear his voice, but it wasn't the same. 

 

“You're home” Bucky breathed, hugging him close, Steve soaking in the familiar sensation of his body tingling at Bucky's touch. “Are you home for good now? What's going on?” The spirit asked, his hands cupping Steve's face, eyes seeking his.

 

And the sad little smile on Steve's face made Bucky's stomach turn with worry. “...what?...” he whispered.

 

Steve reached up, softly touching Bucky's cheek cupping it with his thin hand. “I’ve got an infection in my lungs, Bucky…..” He said quietly, watching as Bucky’s eyes rounded out, horror creeping through him. “The doctor didn’t want to let me go, but I took myself out…I don’t wanna die there.” 

 

The look of horror on Bucky’s face grew painful and acute, as he all but hearded Steve to his bed. “No. No, shut up, Rogers, shut up right now. You’re not dying.” 

 

“Bucky-” Steve protested, laying down before a dizzy spell could put him on the floor. 

 

“No! You’re not dying! You’re too young!” Bucky broke out, shifting over him, Steve’s skin tingling as he ran his hand over his hair, expression agonized. 

 

“You were too young.” Steve countered softly, looking up at him. Bucky was younger than he was now….Steve had been twenty-two when they’d met, Bucky, twenty-seven. Now, Steve was thirty-nine and Bucky was still twenty seven...if anyone had died too young it was Bucky. But Bucky wasn’t going to accept that. 

 

He shook his head. “You’re not even forty, Steve! It’s not fair!” He rasped, watching Steve’s eyes- seeing how tired they looked- how wane. Steve hadn’t had the heart to tell him that his doctor had all but begged him to stay so they could make him comfortable. But Steve had more urgent things to do than simply be comfortable. Bucky swallowed, shakily stroking his cheeks as Steve reached up to cup his hands.    
  


“I know you love to be touch.” The thin man smiled, running his hands up and down his wrists and over his hands. 

 

“Steve, stop this-” Bucky whispered.    
  


“It’s okay…”

 

“It’s not-”

 

Steve closed his eyes. “Bucky...it’s  _ okay.” _ He pressed again, squeezing his hands as Bucky let out a tight sob. “It is….I promise…”

 

Bucky swallowed, tears spilling down his cheeks as he clung to Steve. “...I….I don’t suppose you have any unfinished business….” He choked out, devastated in the face his love’s impending death- at the thought of being alone in this house forever, without Steve’s warm, beautiful presences. And on the bed, Steve let out a soft scoff. 

 

“Of course I do, dummy.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flashed up, wide with stunned disbelief. Because Steve led a fierce passionate life. He jumped into things feet first and didn’t seem to regret a thing….Even laying in his own bed- dying at thirty-nine years old Bucky could imagine him having any unfinished business…”What do you mean? What could you-”

 

“You.” 

 

The air went still in the room. Steve looked up at his spirit. His Bucky, smiling despite the dimness gathering in the corners of his vision. “You’re my unfinished business….we didn’t get enough time and the universe knows it….” He whispered. “I’m comin’ back for you whether you like it or not.” 

 

Bucky let out a breathless little sound, staring- baffled- and for the first time, almost hopeful. “You mean that?” He whispered, feeling Steve’s touch weaken. Still, he smiled. 

 

“Yeah, I mean it….Death didn’t have any luck stopping us before, why’s this any different?...” 

 

“Because you don’t  _ know,”  _ Bucky whispered back, his brow tugging again, worry creeping into his tone. “What if it’s not enough?”

 

“Hey-” Steve’s tone was surprisingly firm for a dying man. “ _ It’s enough.  _ Nothing in the entire goddamn  _ world  _ is stronger than how I feel about you…” He softly stroked Bucky’s cheek, closing his eyes with a slow breath. “...it’s enough…”

 

Bucky’s throat tensed in a swallow “...okay…” His voice was thin and small, Steve going quiet as he eased in close, laying in against Steve side like he did every night- like it was no different. He’d lay here and hold him until he fell asleep...no different…..no different….

 

“Bucky?...”

 

Bucky couldn’t open his eyes. He could barely make his lips form words. “Yeah, babe?....”

 

“It’s a kinda funny trick actually…my business is always gonna be unfinished, cause I could never have too much time with you.” And Bucky’s heart lurched as he felt Steve shift over him, his eyes flying open.    
  


“Stevie- you need to-”

 

He was going to say ‘rest.’ He was going to say ‘stay still- god please just lay still and rest cause I can’t lose you. Cause you can’t die-’ But as his eyes opened, his saw Steve over him, his eyes clear, mouth smiling, his form translucent and incorporeal and Bucky’s eyes widened. 

 

“STEVIE!” He lurched forward, throwing his arms around him as the two spirits tumbled through the air, their forms almost blending in the tangle of desperate touches and breathless kisses. Steve had passed over, quiet, and peaceful, and content in the arms of his love. And it had been enough. Of course, it had been enough. 

 

Steve laughed breathlessly, running his hands over Bucky’s face and hair, his cheeks aching as their souls spun around the room in thoughtless delight. And Steve took Bucky’s face and kissed him, their intangible bodies pressed together- intertwined with one another for forever.”I love you-” He gasped, eyes stinging as he laughed and clung to him. “I love you- I love you- I love you!”

 

Bucky nuzzled his cheek, gripping his close. “I love you too- forever- I mean that, Steve. I’m yours....forever.” 

 

And maybe Bucky’s soul had been trapped in this house because he never got the chance to face his killer, but now- like Steve’s- it was here forever because one lifetime wouldn’t be enough for them. Now they had forever...and when people came and went their happiness and love made the air smell fresher and the plants live longer. The new owners would notice that their bread didn’t go stale, and their fruit lingered at the perfect ripeness. 

 

Steve sometimes fretted about what would happen if his old home were to be demolished- what would happen to their souls, but Bucky didn’t indulge his worry. He was the more optimistic of the two. He’d died as a young man and still managed to find his soulmate even after death; his soul mate with whom he got to spend eternity. He didn’t believe something so simple as the house being torn down would be enough to stop that. 

 

But it turned out, Steve didn’t need to worry at all, because eventually, someone noticed the strange vitality of the old Roger’s house. An owner that had lived there longer than any else had over the decades realized the life it held even as it deteriorated. He established the land as a botanical garden, leaving the house to stand as it was taken over by ivy and ground covers.

 

And for all eternity- because Steve’s business of loving Bucky was never done- they lived together in Steve’s childhood home surrounded by ivy, and flowers, and they’d watch the people who came to marvel at the gardens that grew on their love. 

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue to come.
> 
> Don't forget to comment with your thought, impression, favorite parts, whatever! Your feedback keeps me going! <3


End file.
